Humanity Flawed.

Humanity is flawed…

…That’s a given.

 

As much as we’d like to believe, that our understanding of this statement is absolute; many times the understanding of our understanding may, in fact, not reflect as much.

Strangely enough, when thinking in terms of humanity in general, this is true almost always; yet at times we(depending on who you are exactly) sometimes stray from this understanding.  Essentially, we tend to come to much different conclusions on the possible outcome of any given situation(for better, or worse), when it involves us within those included amongst the involved parties.  This is perhaps, simply one more, out of our countless human flaws, which may be added to the already mountainous pile, of those well-known to man for ages.

We tend to believe quite strongly in the honest truth of our naturally flawed, shared nature, at least when observing or discussing the presence of various imperfections displayed amongst human beings in the general sense.  Now, if it is me involved in a situation, the whole equation changes.

The vaccine needle breaks inside of us.

The shrooms you ate were somehow tainted.

This disease might be wayyy worse than it really is.

I’d kill the damn terrorist if I was there…

Either we see ourselves playing a much more positive role in the picture, or; we allow the outcome of something, in many cases of a quite casual nature, to spiral into a very negative image indeed.

Either way, we are inevitably prone to such a polarized worldview.

That said, the case we find ourselves in is quite a decent one to cope with.

Simply put, I propose a systematic reversal of any negative imaginary situations, in exchange for only the positiveglorified daydreams in

which we score the winning goal, we save the school from an armed group of international terrorists, where we save the damsel and get the girl.

I mean why not?

First of all, a positive mentality has recently been proven to project out into the physical prosperity in the real world by scientists across the spectrum.

Second of all, if the above seems to be the truth, a replacement of negative daydreams with those of a more positive nature, should, in fact, lead us to slightly, in the very least, more prosperous and fulfilling lives.

Right?

In any case, that’s my understanding on the matter…

-B.M. StrIX.

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Flashbang

FLASH

              …And then a sizzle coupled with a faint ringing, which meant that I was, at least for the moment, still alive.

Now; sprawled out on the dust coated cement, and unsure exactly how I had gotten here, I instinctively drew my hands from my still crippled eyes.

Initially an attempt to gain any grasp whatsoever of the unfolding scene around my shaking, neutralized body through means of the ears was a failure, prevented by the still persistent ringing deep inside my skull.

 In that moment I realized that the senses which, I, under usual circumstances rely upon in gauging a situation, were currently compromised.

Then, very cautiously, I tried to open up just a sliver of sight. The idea proved a bit rushed, as a foggy white film greeted me.  I closed them once more for a while, as the ringing in my ears slowly subsided.

Even with my ears still largely unusable, I realized very quickly that I was not alone in that damp, dark room.

…very quickly I realized my previously accessed fears, were in fact my present reality.

Now,

They were here.

They had come for me…

 

 

 

Reflections; by B.M. Strix

Odd things life holds…

…odd indeed,…and wonderful in most cases.

Here life is real. Gritty and bleak to the unworthy of the, in many ways ‘divine’, fruits to reap amongst the bounty, of the lush garden’s hidden harvest.

Yet who amongst us all has never faltered in our ever changing self-desired path.  In fact, many, if not most living humans understand this dark side of things, quite undeniably.

Well, maybe, if not initially, simply outright; at least, on some deeper level.

I find that sensation, that beckoning feeling of failure, no matter how likely or unlikely the reality of the situation may actually be; a central pillar, in the criteria of ‘being a human being’.

Some, may, in all likeliness wholeheartedly disagree with my stance on this matter.

Good. You’re entitled to it.

I don’t give a fuck if you want to be a weak minded piss-stain anyway…

I don’t judge.

In fact weak minded piss-stain’s are people too…

In any case…

I had this idea, staring at a sleeplessly late-early summer night’s, waning nimbus face of the moon….

…and YES. The description was necessary, as it spurred the thought.

I think.

Regardless; life is existentially as random as it is beautiful at times…

…Then again God, the Cosmos, or whatever your outlook on the matter stands as,

has a point to it all hidden somewhere.

…I think.

-B.M. Strix

 

 

 

 

Just Another Insomniac

There are, as most of you can relate to, a good many things to keep a man(or woman for that matter) awake at night…

GOOD MANY indeed.

If you take your average American for example; bills, debts, addiction, the President, the economy, ISIS, Healthcare, death, relationships, former-relationships, rent, stray bullets, climate change, kids, family, etc, etc….and etc, are just a sliver of various issues individuals in this sleepless category may be internally processing in the dead of night.

Most silently, and in utter-seclusion from the rest of the world.

I for one, sincerely wish that I was not a member of this club…

…Unfortunately, I happen to have a platinum membership.  But; t’fuck can one do….

(…beer comes to mind.)

In any case, here I am, I am here.  So… fuck it.

Or not.

Perhaps a broad analysis of an unaddressed, widespread epidemic, of baseless insomnia is in order?

I have, within recent years exposed an underlying current of general discontent among a very wide spectrum of Americans, men, and woman, from of all walks of life.  Many times for no apparent reason at all.  This infectious sense of silent, yet powerful dissatisfaction, is by no means evident, on the face, within standard conversation, or through social behaviors; at least, if not first hoisted up from the depths of the individual’s soul.

In order to expose any given person’s dark insecurities, not for the purpose of proliferation, yet instead to attempt some form of open-forum for the soul, one must NEVER forceful interject an actual proposal to do so.  Any push into another’s deepest torment, may not be perpetrated for nefarious reasons, only as means for the well-being of a fellow human being.

For starters, human beings are like onions.  If you’ve ever watched the first Shrek movie, you probaly understand this concept already.  If you have not; do so.  NOW…


The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.”
Albert Einstein

Many things fascinate the human mind; algorithms, equations, drugs or sex.  ‘Good’, or ‘evil’…

In fact, a great deal of variation is evident, in terms of individual mental stimuli .  That, is quite clear; as, is indeed the undeniable center of fascination for all humans, even since the very birth of our species.

Our minds are, at least in almost all cases, quite fond of inquisitive ‘things’, and, at least in many cases; these ‘things’, are questions, usually derived, or influenced by the world around us, yet ultimately of our own design.

One such question, stands undoubtedly supreme. That, which questions, the very nature of our existence here on earth; generally, or individually…

Why are we here exactly?

I, personally, have yet to find any sort of fucking clue…

…as, indeed do you.

True story.

The End…

Sorry.

 

 

Thoughts on February 2017…

I’m sitting here, in a dinky little suburban coffee shop, sipping a latte, and doing something instrumental, in regards to my own understanding of ‘life’ itself; something which I have not been all to great at undertaking as of late…

…contemplating the living shit, out of everything in the world around me.

Why do I do it? I sheepishly ask myself, before a ghastly, annoying little voice inside of my aching brain responds with a simplistic…’because you’re fuckin’ nuts man.’; after which, yet another side of me bellows out from the depths of my soul, ‘Stop contemplating why you contemplate so much…life is beautiful, incredible, and undeniably infinitely intriguing, at least when one knows where to look’.  I then come to the realization, that first, one must actually ‘want’ to look.

  My mind flails to&fro, zigzagging through endless corridors, lined with flashing images, discarded thoughts, left scattered amongst the wreckage of my struggle to better comprehend our world, and barricaded rooms, blocked off for various reasons; some known to me, others lost to the dark caverns of my inner psyche.  I cringe, in a routine ritual attempt, at shaking the unwavering onslaught of cumulative concepts, flickering like strobe lights, in a bourgeois dance club through my consciousness; simultaneously, my earthly existence trickles back in through the back of my head, and out, into the fore-front.  ‘I’m back’, I sigh; ‘Kind-of…’.

Well, it’s February, cold but not freezing, warmer, yet not warm.

It’s almost like a seasonal purgatory in a sense; somewhere in the middle.  I stare outside the widow at the street outside.  The sun is setting, and, for a moment, the world on the other side of the foggy glass almost looks pleasant, warm even…yet the Chicago sun can be deceptive.  This land has yet to be liberated from the icy grasp of a Northern winter; yet, that makes little difference in my growing desire to step outside, and away from these wretched laptop keys, away from you all.  It’s not because I don’t wish to carry on my relentless assault on your perception of me being anything, ‘but’, a normal person, whatever the fuck that means.  No, in fact, I happen to be quite fond of my pervasive addiction to little cylindrical sticks of cancer…and they’re calling my name.

So…in retrospect, I have very little apathy for clinging to a single, overly-simplistic, and, at least in my own humble opinion, based upon my quite basic ‘I really don’t fucking care’ approach to going about ‘things’; the month of February, in Chicago that is, kind of sucks, but then again I guess that it really doesn’t suck all too much…Oh,

and I need to have a damn cigarette already.

Happy Trails Fuckers.

M.B.Strix

When the ‘Beast’ Came…

when-the-beast-came

It was a late autumn night, and though a harvest should have been; it was not.  There were no bushels of wheat, no fruits to gather, and no barrels of barley in this year’s yield.  Barrels of blood had taken the place of yesteryear’s crop.  It was late autumn, and all but anything was not well.

The beast had come to ravage all that the boy; man, knew.

It’s hunger; the flesh of his kin, and all which he had held dear. Life itself, was his own dear mother’s toll to pay, as well as his father’s, his sisters, and many more of his family’s price for their faith.

There was beauty beyond comprehension in this land he called home, before the beast had come to ravage their lands.  Peace, happiness, and prosperity…

Alas, as if a warm dream, gone.

Now it was no more.

There were no compromises with the beast, no negotiations unless you brought your guns.

No.

It was usually simply fight, or die.

If only, that were the case, all of the time.  Yet many in his village, including himself, had been forced to take yet another alternative.  Fight, or watch the desecration of your mother’s, your sister’s, even your own wife’s body.

This completely inexplicable form of torture, was then met with various others.  However, after the preceding method had been undertaken, anything else was merely child’s play in comparison.  Then again there were no children left here.  Only once innocent souls, drenched in the blood of their mothers, turned to old men, at the age of five, six.

If hell had a name on earth…it was this.

He had initially resisted the others call to arms, he had tried to reason with them.

They are not savages, many live around us, in villages that have never raised a hand in anger towards ours.”

“They are our neighbors, we know them, and they know us.  We have not wronged them, they are our friends and they would not come for blood, they have no reason!”

…They did.

As he stared out across the darkened hills, cold and bare; he sighed, and loosened his sweaty hands from the barrel of his AK-47.

“Why?”

A word which tore through his broken mind again, and again, and again; into insanity.

What had they done that could have resulted in such demonic hatred.

Was it the bread, which his good-hearted ol’mother baked for the children of the grocer in the next village over?

Was it the way in which we had plowed the fields? Fields, which all of us once shared; or the way we believed them to be the same as us, human beings with a soul, our friends, even family through marriage in some cases?

These reasons ultimately mattered little now, and maybe had always.  The beast had come hungry, and as it seemed, had yet not had its fill.  Apparently the flesh of his family, and countless others, had not yet been enough to satisfy the demon’s appetite.

He remembered waking up to find the mark which was used by those around his village to signify those of his faith; painted red on his front door, as well as most of his neighbors.  He had at that time not understood it’s meaning…now it was clear.

Pigs for the slaughter.

He had only come to terms after watching the “things”; terrible things, which they had done to his mother and his sisters, before executing his father.  He had only come to terms with his own beast then.

Now; he had seen evil, and it had tasted him, a he had yet to taste it.  He would avenge the blood of his fallen kin.  He would satisfy the beast’s appetite with its own flesh.

The day prior, had been a savage day.

After castrating three men with the dullest blade he could find, the boy was sent up to the hills to recuperate, and watch the enemy around his village.  This was not his own wish, as his dull blade yet had some “cut” left in it.

Orders, were orders, however.

He watched in silence, as a herd of sheep marched untended, on a stretch on low-land to his right.  Sheep, pigs, cattle…men.  All, meant for the slaughter at the hands of the beast.

One thing was clear to the boy, he would never be weak again.

Even as the enemy, outnumbering his village’s volunteers by what had to be a thousand to one, circled around his family’s land like a pack of hungry wolves, he would never allow himself to give in.

No.

He was ready, almost impatient, to shed these animals blood, in exchange for honor; as were the remaining members of the men down below.  In fact, he sometimes even dreamed of, what could only be described as, biblical revenge.

He had long ago accepted his fate, death.

Yet not the style of death perpetrated upon his beloved family.

No.

The death that would avenge the blood of the fallen; with the blood of their murderers.

He had only one reservation in this effort however.  Sahdina, his last shred of humanity.

She had always been a part of him; not because she lived across the road from his family for all of his short life, but because she was perfect in every way imaginable.  Realistically, if it had not been for the beast’s arrival, she would have been his bride within a few short years.

It was Sahdina which he worried about.  It was her life, and not that of his own which still kept his soul from dying somewhere, out on those darkened, lifeless hills.  Her life was the exception to his hatred of the world itself; of life.

His mind drifted yet again, to what seemed like a pleasant dream, the life he had been witness to before all of this; before the beast had swallowed everything but his haunting memories.

 

He thought of the fresh fish at Christmastime, he smelled his mother’s coat as she caressed his head with loving hands.  He wept, and he screamed into his dirty jacket to keep quiet, and punched the dirt with all his might.

Then he sank down like a rock in a deep, dark well…and he slept like one too.

Lights flickered into his eyes, and the bellowing thunder of the beast’s voice followed…

It had returned; and he had not been witness.

The distant crackle of unexploded shell casings echoed through the valley and up into the hills.

He had not even the chance, nor the will to dust off his rusty, sand coated eyes, before shrieking the sort of sound one only produces upon having his still beating heart torn out of his living body.

The tears streamed from his eyes, and shot off of his dusty dry cheeks, as he sprinted with all of his might down the side of the steep hill, falling several times, then continuing with the conviction of love in his step.

Then he reached his target.

Gone…ashes were all that greeted his return.

The ashes of those which he had delivered to the beast by surrendering to his deafening slumber.

He walked in a slow wobbling waddle, like some drunken goose, completely broken, in a daze of despair and unwillingness to even begin to comprehend the beast’s feast now before him. His slumped to-and-fro like some alien seeing earth for the first time.  His eyes wide, his mouth dry; his soul all but dead.

Where is she!?”

“WHERE!?”

He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Had they taken her as a slave of pleasure!?

He knew then that she had not escaped, that she had either been forced into using her body to please the beast in a living hell of slavery and torture; or, that she was dead.

He screamed out a prayer, begging God himself for her honor.

His only wish was that she had died, that she had been slaughtered like an animal upon the beast’s initial assault.

Then came a sound.

Quiet at first, deafened due to his horror; yet soon it was evident.

“Papa, I think it was over here!”

“Wait for me boy, it’s probably one of the non-believers that hasn’t yet went to hell” “It could still have a bit of fight in it, so wait for me boy!”

Before the two looters had even exited his own father’s house, he could already recognize the voices.

Jutting behind a smoking lump of tires he watched; and he waited.

Papa I don’t hear anything anymore, it’s gone, it ran away!”

“Boy, calm yourself, don’t you worry, he’s here, I can smell these swine ha-ha, oh, don’tchu worry my boy, he’s probably just quiet because it knows we’re coming to send him to hell, where his kind belongs, with the rest of his infidel family!” 

The boy’s heart sped up, his hands sweat once more, his grip tightened.

Moments later, the old man was sprawled out across the road, his young son at his side as he gasped.  The boy walked over slowly, in silence, with no clear emotions evident upon his face.

The old man’s son screamed as he sprang up and ran towards the older boy that had surely mortally wounded the father.

The boy snapped the butt of his rifle hard against the little child’s jaw.  He hit the dirt, only to be violently jerked upwards by the collar, as the “infidel” dragged his small body in the direction of his father, now chocking on his own blood, as a dark-red pool gathered around him.

You remember me?”

The gunman said calmly.

“Do you remember my mother grocer?”

The old man, unable to conjure up the strength to utter words, simply gurgled blood as tears poured down his leathery, wrinkled face.

“I’m sure your son does grocer…”

Two more lifeless bodies were left amongst the rest.

One an old man, strangled by his own blood, coated in urine.

The other; a little boy, with his head decapitated, and also coated in urine.

Like a ghost the boy roamed from house to house, searching for her, searching for his own soul amongst the rubble and burning flesh, perhaps.

Yet still; nothing.

She had not been found in her family’s home, nor his own family’s home, where his aunt often held long chats with the girl.

Then; he saw her.

Sahdina, her eyes, oh, her eyes, as beautiful in death as they were in life.

Her body twisted and mangled, one leg charred with the skin still melting from the bone, the rest, at least up to her lips, covered in rubble.

He began tearing through the brick and dirt without a moment’s hesitation.

He finally laid her out flat, closed her eyes, and wept for a good while.

…And so; watching her lie there, beautiful as she had always been, in perfect serenity, in peace, he thought to himself; at least she had died with honor.

 

“Honor”; alas, honor cold not save him, and as the shot rang out in the late autumn night, so too did her name from his lips.

Nevermore would he fight for honor.

 

Nevermore, oh, nevermore, would he know, the beast named war,

but peace.

Eternal peace; alongside, other beasts…